Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I gave her nothing. Not a blink or tiny twitch of my lips.
“You … he …” She pointed toward the door. “Jerry came to—”
“Jericho,” I corrected her with a slight narrowing of my eyes. His name was Jericho not Jerry.
With her own tiny squint, she rubbed her lips together and dipped her chin into a tiny nod. “Jericho was barking at my door last night when I arrived home. Clearly concerned about you and your…” her head nodded toward my shoulder “…gunshot wound. I tried to leave, but he wouldn’t let me, so I stayed, but then he—”
“Go home.”
Her mouth paused mid-sentence. As her jaw eased shut, she turned, slipped on her sneakers, grabbed her wet suit, and drifted to the door. “Do you need help?”
As my groggy brain worked to interpret her question, she glanced over her shoulder—hair falling in her deep brown eyes, cheeks painted bronze from hours in the sun.
“If it’s drugs. If it’s not. If you don’t want to tell me, but there’s something I can do. Something you need …”
“I need you to go home.” My gaze drifted to the window and the hint of light from the rising sun pushing its way through the gaps in the blinds.
“I stayed because—”
“You stayed for Jericho.” My attention shifted back to her.
Slowly running a hand through her long, blond hair, her gaze dropped to the floor between us. “I stayed for you,” she murmured just before continuing out the door and down the stairs.
I eased to sitting, letting my feet dangle off the bed, wincing from the pain and too much alcohol—which I needed for the pain. After popping a few pills to make the day bearable, I showered, changed the bandages, and made my way downstairs.
“Traitor.” I eyed Jericho as he hopped up from his bed and followed me into the kitchen where a large cup of coffee and two bags sat on the kitchen counter. The cup had “Wylder” in black marker along with one of the bags. The other bag said “Jerry.” I shouldn’t have touched any of it. I didn’t want her doing shit for me. But I needed the coffee. And once I opened the bag with my name on it and found a fresh bagel, I decided I needed it too.
Easing into a chair, feeling every single bend pulling at my stitches, I watched the concern on Jericho’s face, the twitch of his right eyebrow and the tilt of his head accompanied by a little whine. “She didn’t leave you anything, buddy. Something for some dude named Jerry. Maybe next time she’ll think of you too.”
Next time.
I internally reprimanded myself for thinking that. There wouldn’t be a next time. Livy was trouble, but her timing wasn’t awful. I drained every drop of coffee while eating the bagel and sending off a message.
It’s done.
“Done …” I tossed my phone on the table and rubbed my temples. “A bullet to my shoulder … but fucking done.”
Chapter Nine
Livy
“You slept with him?”
After I delivered breakfast to the boys, I attempted to sneak into the house before my friends awakened. I should have known Mom Aubrey would be up making her green smoothie and updating the chore list for the week.
“Slept?” I yawned before sipping the rest of my tea. “Yes. Literally slept in his bed next to him. He got injured yesterday. That’s why Jericho came to get me. How sweet is that?”
Aubrey eyed me with suspicion. “Sweet. Yeah … um … what kind of injury?”
I shrugged, opening the fridge to look for nothing in particular. It’s possible I sucked at acting casual and natural. “He didn’t actually say. Something with his shoulder. Arm. That area.”
“Out with it.”
I continued to absorb the cool air from the fridge as the heat of her questions licked my back like hot flames. “Out with what?”
“That’s the biggest line of crap. He’s not injured. You had sex with him. Just say it. Who cares? Why are you acting so weird about it?”
Shutting the door, I leaned my back against it. “I didn’t have sex with him.” Narrowing my eyes a bit, I scraped my teeth along my lower lip. “He got shot.”
“Wait … what?” Her hand paused, mid-cut through the celery. Eyes wide.
“I know nothing about it. He was drunk and basically passed out on his bed when I got there.” I stopped short of mentioning he sutured himself up.
“Who? Why? Livy! What happened?” Aubrey dropped the knife and dried her hands, going into full concern mode.
“I don’t know.” That wasn’t a lie. I had no idea what happened, and I felt pretty certain I would never know.
I felt pretty certain I should stay far away from Slade Wylder.
I also felt pretty certain that would never happen.
“Probably a deal gone wrong. I don’t know. Legit.” I offered another shrug because it was the truth.